The Reversal (14 page)

The logs were terse accounts of the surveillance subject’s movements by date, time and location. Most entries carried only a single line of description. The logs came with an accompanying set of photos as well, but most of the shots were taken at a significant distance so the followers could avoid detection. These were grainy images of Jessup as he moved about the city as a free man.

Bosch read through the reports and quickly surmised that Jessup was already leading separate public and private lives. By day his movements were in concert with the media as he very publicly reacquainted himself with life outside a prison cell. It was about learning to drive again, to choose off a menu, to go for a three-mile run without having to make a turn. But by night a different Jessup emerged. Unaware that he was still being watched by eyes and cameras, he went out cruising alone in his borrowed car. He went to all corners of the city. He went to bars, strip clubs, a prostitute’s trick pad.

Of all his activities, one was most curious to Bosch. On his fourth night of freedom, Jessup had driven up to Mulholland Drive, the winding road atop the crest of the Santa Monica Mountains, which cut the city in half. Day or night, Mulholland offered some of the best views of the city. It was no surprise that Jessup would go up there. There were overlooks that offered north and south views of the shimmering lights of the city. They could be invigorating and even majestic. Bosch had gone to these spots himself in the past.

But Jessup didn’t go to any of the overlooks. He pulled his car off the road near the entrance to Franklin Canyon Park. He got out and then entered the closed park, sneaking around a gate.

This caused a surveillance issue for the SIS team because the park was empty and the watchers were at risk of being seen if they got too close. The report here was briefer than most entries in the log:

02/20/10—01:12. Subject entered Franklin Canyon Park. Observed at picnic table area, northeast corner, blind man trailhead.

02/20/10—02:34. Subject leaves park, proceeds west on Mulholland to 405 freeway and then south.

After that, Jessup returned to the apartment where he was living in Venice and stayed in for the rest of the night.

There was a printout of an infrared photograph taken of Jessup in the park. It showed him sitting at a picnic table in the dark. Just sitting there.

Bosch put the photo print down on the table and looked at his daughter. She was left-handed like he was. It looked like she was writing out a math problem on a work sheet.

“What?”

She had her mother’s radar.

“Uh, are you online there?”

“Yes, what do you need?”

“Can you pull up a map of Franklin Canyon Park? It’s off of Mulholland Drive.”

“Let me finish this.”

He waited patiently for her to complete her computations on a mathematical problem he knew would be light-years beyond his understanding. For the past four months he had lived in fear that his daughter would ask him for help with her homework. She had passed by his skills and knowledge long ago. He was useless in this area and had tried to concentrate on mentoring her in other areas, observation and self-protection chief among them.

“Okay.”

She put her pencil down and pulled her computer front and center. Bosch checked his watch. It was almost nine.

“Here.”

Maddie slid the computer down the table, turning the screen toward him.

The park was larger than Bosch had thought, running south of Mulholland and west of Coldwater Canyon Boulevard. A key in the corner of the map said it was 605 acres. Bosch hadn’t realized that there was such a large public reserve in this prime section of the Hollywood Hills. He noticed that the map had several of the hiking trails and picnic areas marked. The picnic area in the northeast section was off of Blinderman Trail. He assumed it had been misspelled in the SIS log as “blind man trailhead.”

“What is it?”

Harry looked at his daughter. It was her first attempt at conversation in two days. He decided not to miss it.

“Well, we’ve been watching this guy. The Special Investigations Section. They’re the department’s surveillance experts and they’re watching this guy who just got out of prison. He killed a little girl a long time ago. And for some reason he went to this park and just sat there at a picnic table.”

“So? Isn’t that what people do at parks?”

“Well, this was in the middle of the night. The park was closed and he snuck in… and then he sort of just sat there.”

“Did he grow up near the park? Maybe he’s checking out the places where he grew up.”

“I don’t think so. We have him growing up out in Riverside County. He used to come to L.A. to surf but I haven’t found any connection to Mulholland.”

Bosch studied the map once more and noticed there was an upper and lower entrance to the park. Jessup had gone in through the upper entrance. This would have been out of his way unless that picnic area and Blinderman Trail were specific destinations for him.

He slid the computer back to his daughter. And checked his watch again.

“Are you almost done your work?”

“
Finished,
Dad. Are you almost finished? Or you could say ‘done
with
.’ ”

“Sorry. Are you almost finished?”

“I have one more math problem.”

“Good. I have to make a quick call.”

Lieutenant Wright’s cell number was on the surveillance log. Bosch expected him to be home and annoyed with the intrusion but decided to make the call anyway. He got up and walked into the living room so he would not disturb Maddie on her last problem. He punched the number into his cell.

“Wright, SIS.”

“Lieutenant, it’s Harry Bosch.”

“What’s up, Bosch?”

He didn’t sound annoyed.

“Sorry to intrude on you at home. I just wanted—”

“I’m not at home, Bosch. I’m with your guy.”

Bosch was surprised.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, the night shift is just more interesting.”

“Where is he right now?”

“We’re with him at a bar on Venice Beach called the Townhouse. You know it?”

“I’ve been there. Is he alone?”

“Yes and no. He came alone but he got recognized. He can’t buy a drink in there and probably has his pick of the skanks. Like I said, more interesting at night. Are you calling to check up on us?”

“Not really. I just have a couple of things I need to ask. I’m looking at the logs and the first thing is, how can I get them sooner? I’m looking at stuff from three days ago or longer. The other thing is Franklin Canyon Park. What can you tell me about his stop there?”

“Which one?”

“He’s been there twice?”

“Actually, three times. He’s gone there the last two nights after the first stop four days ago.”

This information was very intriguing to Bosch, mostly because he had no idea what it meant.

“What did he do the last two times?”

Maddie got up from the dining room table and came into the living room. She sat on the couch and listened to Bosch’s side of the conversation.

“The same thing he did the first night,” Wright said. “He sneaks in there and goes to the same picnic area. He just sits there, like he’s waiting for something.”

“For what?”

“You tell me, Bosch.”

“I wish I could. Did he go at the same time each night?”

“Give or take a half hour or so.”

“Does he go in through the Mulholland entrance each time?”

“That’s right. He sneaks in and picks up the same trail that takes him to the picnic area.”

“I wonder why he doesn’t go in the other entrance. It would be easier for him to get to.”

“Maybe he likes driving on Mulholland and seeing the lights.”

That was a good point and Bosch needed to consider it.

“Lieutenant, can you have your people call me the next time he goes there? I don’t care what time it is.”

“I can have them call you but you’re not going to be able to get in there and get close. It’s too risky. We don’t want to expose the surveillance.”

“I understand, but have them call me. I just want to know. Now, what about these logs? Is there a way for me to get them a little quicker?”

“You can come by SIS and pick one up every morning if you want. As you probably noticed, the logs run six
P.M.
to six
P.M.
Each daily log is posted by seven the following morning.”

“Okay, LT, I’ll do that. Thanks for the info.”

“Have a good one.”

Bosch closed the phone, wondering about Jessup in Franklin Canyon and what he was doing on his visits there.

“What did he say?” Maddie asked.

Bosch hesitated, wondering for the hundredth time whether he should be telling her as much as he did about his cases.

“He said my guy’s gone back to that park the last two nights. Each time, he just sits there and waits.”

“For what?”

“Nobody knows.”

“Maybe he just wants to be somewhere where he’s completely by himself and away from everybody.”

“Maybe.”

But Bosch doubted it. He believed there was a plan to almost everything Jessup did. Bosch just had to figure out what it was.

“I’m finished with my homework,” Maddie said. “You want to watch
Lost
?”

They had been slowly going through the DVDs of the television show, catching up on five years’ worth of episodes. The show was about several people who survived a plane crash on an uncharted island in the South Pacific. Bosch had trouble keeping track of things from show to show but watched because his daughter had been completely taken in by the story.

He had no time to watch television right now.

“Okay, one episode,” he said. “Then you have to go to bed and I have to get back to work.”

She smiled. This made her happy and for the moment Bosch’s grammatical and parental transgressions seemed forgotten.

“Set it up,” Bosch said. “And be prepared to remind me what’s happening.”

Five hours later, Bosch was on a jet that was shaking with wild turbulence. His daughter was sitting across the aisle from him rather than in the open seat next to him. They reached across the aisle to each other to hold hands but the bouncing of the plane kept knocking them apart. He couldn’t grab her hand.

Just as he turned in his seat to see the tail section break off and fall away, he was awakened by a buzzing sound. He reached to the bed table and grabbed his phone. He struggled to find his voice as he answered.

“This is Bosch.”

“This is Shipley, SIS. I was told to call.”

“Jessup’s at the park?”

“He’s in a park, yeah, but tonight it’s a different one.”

“Where?”

“Fryman Canyon off Mulholland.”

Bosch knew Fryman Canyon. It was about ten minutes away from Franklin Canyon.

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s just sort of walking on one of the trails. Just like at the other park. He walks the trail and then he sits down. He doesn’t do anything after that. He just sits for a while and then leaves.”

“Okay.”

Bosch looked at the glowing numbers on the clock. It was two o’clock exactly.

“Are you coming out?” Shipley asked.

Bosch thought about his daughter asleep in her bedroom. He knew he could leave and be back before she woke up.

“Uh… no, I have my daughter here and I can’t leave her.”

“Suit yourself.”

“When does your shift end?”

“About seven.”

“Can you call me then?”

“If you want.”

“I’d like you to call me every morning when you are getting off. To tell me where he’s been.”

“Uh… all right, I guess. Can I ask you something? This guy killed a girl, right?”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re sure about that? I mean, no doubt, right?”

Bosch thought about the interview with Sarah Gleason.

“I have no doubt.”

“Okay, well, that’s good to know.”

Bosch understood what he was saying. He was looking for assurance. If circumstances dictated the use of deadly force against Jessup, it was good to know who and what they would be shooting at. Nothing else needed to be said about it.

“Thanks, Shipley,” Bosch said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Bosch disconnected and put his head back on the pillow. He remembered the dream about the plane. About reaching out to his daughter but being unable to grab her hand.

Fifteen

Wednesday, February 24, 8:15
A.M
.

J
udge Diane Breitman welcomed us into her chambers and offered a pot of coffee and a plate of shortbread cookies, an unusual move for a criminal courts judge. In attendance were myself and my second chair, Maggie McPherson, and Clive Royce, who was without his second but not without his temerity. He asked the judge if he could have hot tea instead.

“Well, this is nice,” the judge said once we were all seated in front of her desk, cups and saucers in hand. “I have not had the opportunity to see any of you practice in my courtroom. So I thought it would be good for us to start out a bit informally in chambers. We can always step out into the courtroom to go on the record if necessary.”

She smiled and none of the rest of us responded.

“Let me start by saying that I have a deep respect for the decorum of the courtroom,” Breitman continued. “And I insist that the lawyers who practice before me do as well. I am expecting this trial to be a spirited contest of the evidence and facts of the case. But I won’t stand for any acting out or crossing of the lines of courtesy and jurisprudence. I hope that is clearly understood.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Maggie responded while Royce and I nodded.

“Good, now let’s talk about media coverage. The media is going to be hovering over this case like the helicopters that followed O.J. down the freeway. That is clearly a given. I have requests here from three local network affiliates, a documentary filmmaker and
Dateline NBC
. They all want to film the trial in its entirety. While I see no problem with that, as long as proper protections of the jury are put in place, my concern is in the extracurricular activity that is bound to occur outside the courtroom. Do any of you have any thoughts in this regard?”